


A Royal Pain

by ReinaOfTheSirens



Category: South Park
Genre: "Strong" Language, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Master & Servant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, People Making Things Complicated For Themselves, Rated M for Good Measure, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Strangers to Lovers, To Be Continued, possibly, stick of truth-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReinaOfTheSirens/pseuds/ReinaOfTheSirens
Summary: Stan finally turned eighteen; and as the prince of Zaron has to start taking responsibilities-his first one being his first personal servant, Kyle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it is me: the queen of inconsistency. As you may or may not know, English is not my first language so feel free to correct me and give me constructive criticism. I hope you guys enjoy!

Prince Stanley had waited eighteen years for this day. He was finally a man and was being seen as the heir to the throne that he was. The entirety of the kingdom of Zaron lined up outside of the castle to offer him gifts and good wishes. He'd never seen any celebration quite as grand as this.

The anticipation bubbled within him as he rose from his place beside the throne, welcoming his subjects with open arms and a wide grin. Sure, most of his radiance was artificial and specifically crafted for this moment; but there was a genuine elation in Stanley's heart when he noticed the way his people looked at him with a sense of tenderness and affection. 

Hours passed and the prince stood in the same place, handing gifts off to servants, shaking people's hands, kissing the heads of babies. The function started early in the morning, and Stanley's legs locked into place as to keep his posture straight. After what seemed like forever, Stan could see the end of the line as the sun began to set, and a new burst of energy surged through him as he accepted the last of the presents and greeted everyone hurriedly. 

To say that Stan was exhausted was a complete understatement, but it was nowhere near the level of discomfort he would have to go through when he became king someday. He sighed as the doors of the castle finally closed behind the last person, and he loosened the collar of the ridiculously intricate suit he was wearing while kicking his shoes off.

"Oh my baby, you've grown up so fast," his mother reached for his hand and held it close to her chest. 

"You can stop calling me 'baby' now, Mom," Stan shook his head with a soft smile spread tiredly across his face. 

"Nonsense," she playfully smacked his shoulder, "you'll always be my little boy." 

Stan nodded, stretching his other hand to pat the one his mother still cradled. He moved closer to her and let his head fall on his mother's shoulders, relishing in the comfort and peace he knew he wouldn't have for much longer since he was now an adult. 

"Oh! I almost forgot!" The queen pulled away suddenly, almost causing Stan to fall over. He furrowed his brow, startled by the fact that his mom had forgotten something considering her sharp memory.

"I have a present for you," she chirped, gracefully carrying herself toward the door.

"Mom, I'm tired of gifts. Can't this wait for tomorrow?" Stan pouted. He really did want to collapse into any corner of the castle and sleep, but he couldn't be so carefree anymore. He sighed; there would be many things he'd miss.

"Absolutely not," she answered firmly, "you stay put or you will feel my wrath, young man."

Stan didn't dare to test her patience; he would just have to stand there and wait for her to fetch his present from the other side of the castle, more than likely. His father had already gone to bed, as did his sister. The silence of the room was unsettling yet oddly pleasant. That was until he heard the rustling of chains from outside the door. What was a prisoner doing in the castle? Could this be a ghost?

Alarmed, Stan placed a firm hand on his sword. The sound of the clanking chains grew nearer and nearer—loud and with purpose. The steps halted outside the room, and the door could not have opened any slower. His sword was already partially out of its sheath until Stan recognized the echo of his mother's heels, but he was dumbfounded by the figure that accompanied her.

A boy, or a man, around his age, bound by his wrists and ankles. A collar branded with the family crest weighed down the boy's neck, almost like it was going to cut into him at any moment. Stan felt sorry for him; he had probably been sold by an impoverished family—that's how it always was.

"Here's your present," the queen marched toward him, handing him the chain that connected to the boy's collar. The metal burned against his skin, but he did not allow himself to flinch away. Stan was grateful that his mother hadn't called him by any pet-name though. That would have diminished the authority he slightly wished he didn't have on the boy.

"You're an adult now. You'll have more responsibilities, and my servants will no longer be able to keep up with your chores and mine," his mother declared, "I trust you to care for this boy, for he now has the obligation to serve you and you alone."

"Thank you, Mother, " Stan spoke formally, eyeing the expressions of the guy whose liberty was literally in his hands. His face was stern and unmoving, but his knees visibly trembled, and the chains rang with his fear.

Stan's mom handed him the keys to the shackles and the cuffs as she bid him a good night's sleep. He was tempted to ask his mom not to leave him alone with the guy, but he was sure that would be childish of him.

"Hello," Stan greeted awkwardly. It was funny to him how he'd been greeting people all day; yet having to talk to his new personal assistant, as to not call him a slave, was more nerve-wracking than shaking the hands of the highest ranking politicians in the region. 

The boy looked at him incredulously, questioning why he was greeting him and not just dragging him along the castle. Stan lifted his hand, seeking to adjust some hair that flew wildly over his face, but his heart sank when the boy flinched away from him instinctively. He placed his hand on his side before slowly raising it toward his servant again. Although he was still taken aback, he let Stan straighten out his hair.

"So... uh... what's your name?" Stan asked in an attempt to make the atmosphere less dense and calm the thundering of his heart.

"That's up to you to decide, Master. I am what you want me to be," the boy responded with clearly practiced ease. He must have already had his first master; that was something Stan was sure of. 

"Please don't call me that," he whined, "my name's Stanley, but you can call me Stan. I grant you permission to use it unless we're in public". The word 'master' had a weird ring to it, not to mention that it was something he wasn't used to being called by people in his age group. 

The guy just stood there, the expression on his face displaying a mild sense of confusion. Was this the first time that he was allowed to call his master by name? Now that Stan thought about it, even his mother's closest and most trusted assistants never called her by name; but he wasn't his mother, and there was a certain charm to the boy that he could not pinpoint.

"You never told me your name," Stan insisted.

"Have you decided what you wanted it to be?"

"Don't give me that bullshit and tell me your birth name," Stan groaned impatiently.

The servant opened his mouth, finding it hard to speak with the knot that caught in his throat. Stan wondered what his life must have been like to warrant these reactions from what he thought were simple questions. His former owners must have been harsh with him; coming to think of it, he didn't wince with those chains still biting into him.

Stan shuffled the keys in his hand, inching closer before the boy could say a word. The way his eyes widened and his body tensed disturbed him; the other shouldn't be so nervous; it felt almost like an insult, and it tampered with his pride. He wasn't going to do anything to him. Stan sighed and brought the cuffed hands toward him, unleashing the slave's wrists from their confines. Stan looked up to check on him and smiled when he noticed that the other was staring at him with an emotion similar to both gratitude and astonishment; it looked much better on him than fear.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?" Stan joked.

"No!" The other defended with a hurt-laced disappointment. It made Stan wonder why he even asked in the first place.

Stan dropped to his knees in front of the guy; a gasp escaping him as he released him from his shackles. Stan rose to his feet and stepped behind him to unlock the brace on his neck; he observed how the crest had left a mark on the side of the other's neck, yet it didn't look intrusive on the skin—like it had always been there and it was meant to stay there.

"I'm trusting that you won't go running off either; not like you'd get very far though." Stan laughed sheepishly. The boy kneeled before Stan, desperate to show in some shape or form the immensity of his gratitude and reverence. 

"Thank you for the trust, My Lord; but I don't have a reason to leave." Stan burst into fits of giggles; this guy really had a sense of humor. No reason to leave? He must be kidding. He could have sat there for hours laughing if it weren't for the bewilderment plastered on the other's face. Stan grabbed him by the shoulders, coaxing him to his feet. Although Stan was used to people bowing and kneeling, there was something unnatural about having the boy on his knees.

"You have every reason to want to leave this place," Stan offered to speak for what he assumed were the sentiments of the boy. There was a hopeless hesitation written all over the boy's face; he didn't want to test Stan's pleasant disposition, and Stan knew that the other was keeping quiet out of respect, or obligation. However, Stan was curious as to what the slave had to say.

"Do you not?" Stan offered the boy a chance to express himself.

"I do not, My Lord," the boy answered. "I... I volunteered to be your personal aid," the boy lost confidence with every word that left his lips. Stan was amused as to how this was unraveling.

"A boy who volunteers for this sort of thing deserves to be called by name, don't you think?" Stan would not rest until he had this person's name.

"My name is Kyle, My Lord," the boy nearly whispered. 

"Kyle," Stan repeated, "you have a nice name. May I call you by name?" Stan grinned. He was getting somewhere. 

"As you wish, My-"

"Stan," the prince interrupted, "please, call me Stan. There is no one here, remember?"

"Yes," Kyle paused to let the moment sink in, "Stan."

"Was that so hard?" Stan teased, finding the reddening embarrassment on Kyle's face endearing. Kyle shook his head before covering his mouth to hide a yawn. 

"Long day, huh?" Stan commented. Kyle was increasingly surprised by the informality of the prince, but he didn't trust himself to respond in the same way. He nodded.

"Not much of a talker or just getting a lay of the land?" Stan asked. Kyle was intrigued by how observant Stan was and how he could see the questions he harbored with ease. Then again, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. 

"More of the latter, Stan," Kyle smiled, relieved to see Stan nod in agreement.

"That's fair. You'll get used to it rather quickly, I assure you; but for now, you need to go to rest. You and I both have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and maybe for the rest of our days." Stan spoke before a yawn of his own stretched across his face. Kyle nodded as Stan led the way toward what would be his new sleeping quarters. 

"Your room is right next to mine, just in case I need your services at night," the prince pointed out before realizing how lewd that must have sounded. The red glow on Kyle's face only served to prove his point.

"No- not like that. I mean in case I need water or, you know, things of that sort. Not like that sort. Should you even know about these things? How old are you anyway?" Stan rambled. Seeing the prince so flustered helped Kyle with his own uneasiness. 

"I'm eighteen," Kyle answered simply. 

"I thought so," Stan noted. "Anyway, this is your space to sleep and rest. It just so happens to be next to mine. Let's not make this any more awkward than what I already have."

"As you wish," Kyle bowed, taking the door handle in his hands.

"Thank you," Stan blurted before Kyle was completely hidden behind the door. Kyle turned around, confused. "For volunteering. I hope we can get along well in the future," Stan cleared his throat. He wanted to stall for sleep, stay a little longer; but he knew that he had to rise early the next day, and Kyle had to rise earlier than him.

"It will be my pleasure to serve you, Stan," a wide smile spread across Kyle's face; and Stan dared to say that the smile he returned to him was the most genuine one he'd given that day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback on the first chapter; I really appreciate! I hope you guys like this one!!!

The rays of dawn peered through the horizon line, and Kyle rose with them. A month before the prince's birthday the queen had him trained and made sure he was familiar with the castle and its many parts. He dressed in the new uniform that was assigned to him by the queen and quietly left the room. Finally, Kyle could actually put into practice all of the tasks he was made aware of. 

He scurried around the castle, greeting the few acquaintances he'd managed to make in the month he'd been here. He was basically a glorified maid to the rest of the castle, doing the prince's laundry, organizing his workspace, planning out his day which included the time of his meals. Luckily, most of the work he was doing consisted of things that were basically second nature to him. After all, he was practically born to be a servant. 

As he waited for the clock to strike the hour, Kyle decided to spend his time chatting with Kenny. Kenny was the castle's cook and also the most easily approachable person in the entire castle. He was the only one who seemed to not have a stick up his ass, and Kenny appreciated his company more than any of the other servants much for the same reason. 

"You excited? It's your first day, Dude," Kenny chimed, his voice muffled by the cloth that he always wore over his mouth for hygienic reasons. 

"I know; I'm really nervous," Kyle fidgeted, tapping his foot. 

"Don't be. The prince is really chill. I'm sure he'll think you're just fine," Kenny assured, taking out all of the ingredients needed to make the prince's breakfast. 

"I hope so," Kyle jittered. "I'm more worried about the queen though. Stan doesn't seem like a bad guy."

"Stan?" Kenny questioned, "Who's Stan?"

A little of Kyle's soul left his body as he noticed what he'd said. He had spent most of the night reciting the other's name, memorizing tidbits of information that had left him the day before, mapping out the deep blue of the prince's eyes. He massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I'm just fucking with you, dude," Kenny chuckled. "We all know who Prince Stanley is."

Kyle breathed a sigh of relief, and he continued making small talk with Kenny until Kenny had finished making breakfast, and it was time for Kyle to rush across the castle to wake up and feed the prince. He balanced all of the arrangements carefully on the cart and went to dart toward the door, but Kenny called after him as he was about to cross the threshold of the kitchen.

"Hey, Kyle, be careful," Kenny warned as he pointed at his own lips. "You never know how someone else might react to some of your 'slip ups'. Just watch what you say in front of others. Remember that your actions also reflect on the prince now." 

Kyle nodded; and with that, he was off to deliver the food. His own stomach was rumbling; he hadn't eaten anything in a while. However, that didn't matter. He hurriedly passed every one of the few souls that roamed the halls near the prince's room; and as he made it to Stan's chamber, he carefully opened the door and closed it behind him.

The prince was still gently snoring, peacefully curled against a fluffy pillow; he looked like an innocent child. It almost broke his heart to have to wake him up, but it had to be done. He tip-toed closer to the bed taking a few deep breaths before softly nudging the prince.

"My Lord, My Lord, " Kyle whispered. He'd hoped that the prince would just wake up so he wouldn't have to speak above a whisper; but alas, not everyone slept as lightly as he did.

"My Lord," Kyle called louder, "it's time for you to eat." Nothing. Stan still laid there, mouth slightly ajar as he continued to snore. Kyle tried nudging him a little harder too, but the prince wouldn't budge. 

"My Lord- Stan," he persisted, "I've brought you your breakfast." The prince showed no sign of waking up soon, as much as Kyle thought that maybe by saying his name he'd awaken. The clock would strike seven any minute now, and Stan's food would get cold. Kyle straightened up, posture impeccable, one arm holding a towel and the other one hanging loosely at his side. He counted in his head. 

One.

Two.

"STANLEY!" Kyle hollered, witnessing how the prince shot up from underneath his covers like he had resurrected from the dead. He was both worried and amused as Stan flung his legs so they could hang off the edge of the bed. 

"Good morning to you too, Kyle," Stan panted. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. Congrats," he rubbed his chest before giving a lighthearted laugh.

"My apologies. You just didn't seem to respond to gentler methods."

"A dragon could crash into the castle and swallow me whole, and I wouldn't wake up," Stan laughed. "In any case, I forgive you if it makes you feel better." Stan stretched his back and popped his neck, the sound raising goosebumps on Kyle's skin. 

"So, what's for breakfast?" Stan asked as he was slid to his feet and walked toward the cart that Kyle had left next to the prince's desk.

"Warm espresso waffles with a special mocha drizzle and topped with freshly chopped pecans, freshly picked fruits of your preference, and your choice of tea or coffee," Kyle recited aloud what he was chanting to himself on his voyage there. 

"That sounds like a treat," Stan hummed in delight as Kyle uncovered the dishes and placed them in front of the prince. "I'll have some coffee. I think I'll need all the caffeine I can get." Not a fraction of a second passed when Kyle was already brewing Stan's coffee, making mental calculations of the ratio between coffee, cream, and sugar. 

"Enjoy your meal, Sir," Kyle smiled curtly as he set the cup of coffee and eating utensils accordingly. 

"You'll find out someday that I get really impatient when I have to repeat myself," Stan chuckled.

"Yes, Stan," Kyle corrected himself. 

"Thank you," Stan beamed as he took his first bite of food. "Kenneth sure is a master at his craft, don't you think?" 

Kenneth? Why would the prince call him Kenneth and not Kenny? Kyle had an idea as to why that could be so, but he didn't want to get ahead of himself. It could be because Kenny worked in the kitchen, and Kyle was his personal aide. However, Kyle still prayed that it was for the reason he thought it was; but he wasn't going to dwell on that now. 

"Yes, absolutely," Kyle agreed, trying his hardest not to look at the food and let the smell awaken his empty stomach. 

"Why don't you tell me about yourself while I eat?" Stan indirectly requested. "It'll be fun."

"There is not much to know about me," Kyle confessed. "It really is not worth your time."

"Let me be the judge of that," Stan challenged, lifting a brow, daring Kyle to object one more time. 

"Where should I begin?" Kyle sighed; he truly had no idea where to start—no place was truly pleasant.

"I don't know. How about you go chronologically? Tell me your life story," the prince suggested as he took another bite of his food and sipped on his coffee. Kyle gathered his thoughts for a minute, pulling into the forefront of his mind all the memories he tried to repress.

"My parents sold me to a merchant when I was merely an infant; they were in debt and in desperate need of money," Kyle began. "I don't remember much of that period; but eventually, I was bought by my previous master."

"So, you only remember being a slave?" Stan commented sullenly, glancing at Kyle in hopes that it was a practical joke; but nothing on Kyle's face hinted at that being a lie.

"More or less," Kyle mumbled.

"How was he? Your former master?" Stan coaxed, genuinely curious about the life of his aide. 

"She was really kind to me," Kyle recalled. "She taught me how to read, write, and count. She let me borrow many of her books. For that, I believe I was privileged to be in her household," Kyle exhaled a short chuckle. 

"She even gave me her family name and entrusted me with her finances. She loved me like a son, and I could never repay her for that," Kyle remembered, nostalgia and longing aching through his veins.

"She sounds like an awesome woman," Stan agreed. "But it doesn't make sense. Why would you volunteer to come here if she treated you so well?" 

"Her only son, the young master, despised me," Kyle lamented. "He never wanted to take responsibility for any of his filial obligations. He did not appreciate the tenderness directed at me either. He made my life a perpetual nightmare."

"How?" Stan asked, intrigued. He hadn't even noticed when he put down his fork and knife, giving every ounce of his attention to Kyle.

"He did many things, most of which I would rather not discuss," Kyle croaked, "but they could easily be classified as cruel and inhumane." Stan gasped, completely enraptured by Kyle's telling of his past. A deep pain pulsing through his body urged him to comfort Kyle like a crying child, but he had more self-control than that.

"My master was afraid that her son might end up killing me one day," Kyle continued. "She'd heard from someone in the castle that the queen was looking for an assistant for her son, so she arranged a meeting with the queen. After seeing me at work, the queen deemed me fit; and so you have me here." 

Kyle looked up from the leg of the chair he was unknowingly staring at. A pained expression on Stan's face making his chest hurt, yet he was oddly relieved to have the basics of his story off of his chest. He definitely felt lighter. The scratching of the chair against the floor startled Kyle; and in seconds, he felt the arms of prince wrap around him as Stan patted his back.

"You have my word, Kyle," Stan promised, "that I'll beat the shit out of anyone who even tries to do something like that to you again." Kyle grinned as Stan pulled away before bursting into laughter. 

"Has anyone ever told you," Kyle spoke between episodes of giggles, "that you have a colorful vocabulary for a prince."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Stan sputtered.

"You speak rather informally for a person of your status," Kyle pointed out as he wiped tears from his eyes before composing himself.

"I just don't like to be like that when I don't have to," Stan explained. "It gets really tiring, you know—pretending like I'm the fairest in the land yet the toughest man in the kingdom. It's a chore; I'd go crazy if I did that all the time. I'd lose myself in it," Stan confessed. Kyle smiled endearingly, placing a hand on the prince's shoulder as a sympathetic gesture. 

"I suppose that's why I'm here," Kyle spoke, "to be of service in every sense of the word."

"I'll make sure to hold you to that," Stan mockingly warned. Kyle nodded, lifting his hands as if to surrender himself entirely to the prince. They both laughed, light and appeased from the heavy burdens they had released. However, Kyle's stomach held no regard for the moment as it roared for his attention. Kyle's face darkened under his embarrassment, and Stan laughed even harder. 

"Sounds like someone needs to eat something," Stan teased. "I'm guessing you haven't had breakfast?"

"You'd be correct," Kyle affirmed, trying to soothe his stomach so that it would stop making noise. 

"You want some?" Stan offered him a waffle and some fruit.

"I'm fine, Stan," Kyle politely declined, not wanting to take any of Stan's food from him.

"C'mon. We can eat together. I end up sending half of this to the trash anyway," Stan insisted. "How long have you been up anyway?" Kyle studied the clock for a few seconds.

"Well, I started my chores at three-thirty, so I have been awake since three-fifteen give or take. It's going to be seven-forty-five now, so I have been awake for nearly four and a half hours," Kyle did his math out loud, looking at his watch to make sure his math was correct.

"Oh my God," Stan shot up, "if you do not sit down and eat right now, I will shove all of this food down your throat, Kyle!"

"As you wish, Stan," Kyle jokingly sighed, taking a chair from the other side of the room and setting it beside Stan's. 

He took his seat and as he did he glanced at Stan, and there was no doubt in Kyle's mind that he was sitting next to a great man and that the fact that he served him was Kyle's greatest blessing yet. Stan also knew that he was given someone with a noble heart and having him by his side was the best present he could ever ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to let me know how I'm doing; it helps keep me motivated!
> 
> I'll see you all in the next one!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you all are enjoying this story! I know I enjoyed writing it.

Two years had passed since Kyle became Stan's aide, and Stan could not imagine a better person to have been in Kyle's place. His life felt like a breeze, or at least less overwhelming, with Kyle there. He never had an easier time finding his supplies and locating documents before; Kyle would even help Stan look over some things at night when Kyle would sneak over to his chamber. Right now, Stan was waiting for Kyle to bring him his breakfast since he no longer needed to wake him; so when Kyle walked in without a cart in his hands, Stan was taken aback.

"Good morning, My Lord," Kyle bowed. Something was definitely wrong. Stan craned his neck to peek through the doorway and there stood solidly the figures of guards. 

"Good morning, Kyle," the prince greeted, "no breakfast today?" His face contorted in confusion and worry, indirectly demanding an explanation from the people standing outside.

"Your mother wishes to speak with you, My Prince," Kyle announced. "She requested that I postpone your breakfast until after she has spoken to you; therefore, it is preferable that you make yourself presentable as soon as possible." Stan nodded, rising from his chair and following Kyle to his dresser.

"Do you know what she wants?" Stan whispered in Kyle's ear. 

"I wish I did," Kyle murmured, "but she told me nothing other than the fact that she wanted to see you immediately."

Stan gulped. When his mom wanted to talk to him, all she had to do was wait for lunch or dinner. The few times Stan was summoned like this always ended with him being punished in some way, shape, or form. Stan trembled as Kyle picked out a change of clothes and set them on the bed. 

"Can you remove the statues from my doorstep?" Stan croaked, trying to control the pace of his heart. Kyle gently squeezed Stan's shoulders smiling sympathetically before doing as he was told. He asked the guards to give them a few minutes and told them he would escort him when the prince was ready. 

"I'm sure everything will be okay, Stan," Kyle assured as he dressed the prince in his royal attire. 

"That's easy for you to say," Stan rolled his eyes. "What was she like when she said she wanted to see me?" Stan asked, pinching the palm of his hand—a habit that Kyle had grown accustomed to seeing when Stan was in distress. 

"She didn't look pissed if that's what you're asking," Kyle gently massaged Stan's neck, trying to do anything in his power to make him relax. Stan chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Kyle grinned.

"I remember the first days you were here," Stan recounted. "'I trust that everything will be fine, My Lord.'" Stan mocked. Kyle scoffed jokingly.

"You've been a bad influence," Kyle patted his back, signaling him to get up so they could go to the queen's quarters. 

"I never said it was a bad thing," Stan opened the door for Kyle and Kyle rolled his eyes. "What do you think my mom wants to see me for?" Stan asked as he closed the door behind them. 

"I can only hope it is not to reprimand you," Kyle sighed as he walked beside Stan. 

"I hope so too," Stan seconded. 

The rest of the way to the queen was spent in silence that was both calming and painful. As they approached the door, Kyle suddenly stopped. Stan only took a few steps before noticing that Kyle was not beside him. 

"What's wrong?" Stan worried, thinking Kyle was afraid. 

"The queen asked to speak to you... alone," Kyle stated, hating the fact that he couldn't go in along with Stan. 

"Oh," Stan's face fell, the rhythm of his breathing pacing more rapidly as the seconds passed. 

"Trust that everything will be fine, Stan," Kyle spoke softly, giving his shoulders a firm squeeze. "I'll be here for you. Remember that."

The amount of fear burning through Stan's system was uncanny; Kyle had never seen him this anxious; it was concerning. Stan stared at Kyle, his eyes begging, pleading that he accompany him into the queen's room; but that was an area that both of them knew was completely and utterly restricted to Kyle unless given expressed permission by the queen herself. Stan bit his lip and let his feet guide him to the door and passed the threshold of the queen's room. 

Stan was relieved to find truth in Kyle's statement; his mother held a calm air around her and a relaxed posture. There was not a sign of hostility in her demeanor; and usually, that bodes well for him. However, there was something about the way his mother was so desperate to talk to him that didn't sit well with him.

"I was told you wanted to talk to me, Mother," Stan didn't want to make small-talk. He fidgetted in place, eyes shifting between the queen and the door that seemed so tantalizing close yet dauntingly far away. 

"Yes, take a seat," the queen motioned toward a chair beside her bed.

"I would like to stand; I am tired of sitting," Stan objected, not wanting to give his mother any excuse to elongate his visit.

"Very well," the queen allowed. "We must talk about your future, Son."

"Have I been inefficient?" Stan perplexed, still trying to figure out where his mom was taking this so he could be prepared for whatever it was she would ask. 

"Oh no, your work has never been better, Stanley; as a matter of fact, I commend you and your assistant for your hard work," she acknowledged. This only served to confuse Stan further. Was his father sick?

"You are twenty years old, honey; and you haven't found your soulmate," the queen pointed out. "I've become worried that you won't have a mate at all. Your sister found her mate when she was significantly younger than you. There are rumors about you being impotent around the kingdom." 

"Mother, I'm only twenty," Stan laughed coldly. "And even if I don't have a soulmate, the people should be glad that my sister can provide an heir after her and my death." 

Stan's head hurt from how far back his eyes rolled. He remembered the first time his mother had talked to him about soulmates and bonds; Stan had never been interested in that kind of thing nor did he care for it. He was never curious about whoever was the poor soul that had his crest etched into them. If anything, he felt sorry for them. 

"Well, I have already made arrangements," the queen announced. "There will be maidens and bachelors of other lands arriving in Zaron by midday, and you will have the responsibility of being their host. Tomorrow, you will go into the gardens with them one at a time and converse with them. Perhaps your mate is of nobility."

"What?!" Stan yelped. This could not be happening; he did not have the strength to deal with this kind of thing right now. He had too many papers to look over and meetings to attend to.

"Do not make me repeat myself, Stanley. Now go eat and have Kyle make you presentable," the queen commanded. "Now!" She yelled as she noticed that Stan was opening his mouth in an attempt to counter. At that point, Stan had no other choice but run out of the room in frustration. He was hoping to find Kyle waiting for him patiently outside of his mother's room, but Stan realized that Kyle also had chores to do, so he set out to look for him. 

While Stan was with his mother, Kyle had gone to the kitchen with Kenny. There was nothing else he could do in the castle since Stan was occupied, and most of his duty revolved around him. As always, Kenny welcomed Kyle warmly and offered him food to occupy his usually empty stomach.

"He seemed really stressed out, Kenny. I don't know what to do," Kyle worried. 

"You know who's been stressed out as of late? You!" Kenny retaliated. "Don't think I don't notice those bags under your eyes. The guards would have thought you were smuggling something if it weren't because you work here."

"I haven't been sleeping lately," Kyle sighed. "I just have this feeling in the pit of my stomach; it makes me restless." Kyle was happy that he had a friend outside of Stan with whom he could talk to. It wasn't that he was tired of Stan by any means, but there were many things that Kyle didn't want to mention to him because he didn't want the prince to worry. 

"Have you tried drinking some tea? It could help with your nervousness and help you go to sleep," Kenny suggested. 

"No, but maybe I should," Kyle agreed before Stan burst through the kitchen door, panting and wheezing like he had just run a marathon. 

"My Prince!" Both Kyle and Kenny gasped. Kenny scurried around the kitchen to get a cup of water while Kyle hurried to Stan's side.

"Are you alright, My Lord?" Kyle fretted. There was no way to ignore how Stan's face scrunched and wrinkled in the midst of all his emotions. Kenny handed Stan a glass of water which Stan gladly chugged and handed back.

"Thank you, Kenneth," Stan breathed. "I was looking all over for you," he stared directly at Kyle almost angrily. Kyle had never seen that expression on Stan's face before; it was frightening. 

"My apologies, My Lord. I was getting ready to take your breakfast to your room," Kyle bowed and then pointed at the cart. 

"Do that, then. I'm quite hungry," Stan demanded, storming his way out of the kitchen and wordlessly ordering Kyle to follow. 

"I'll see you around, Kenny. Thank you," Kyle smiled.

"Sure thing. See ya around," Kenny replied as Kyle quickly got a hold of his things and had Kenny help with the door.

Although the entire journey to Stan's room was silent with the exception of the cart's squeaking wheels, the drumming of Kyle's heart against his chest was deafening and nearly paralyzing. He hadn't felt this way since the first day he was in the castle. 

Kyle's knees were threatening to give out from under him once he made it into Stan's room. Stan was already sitting on his bed with his head in his hands; Kyle had never seen Stan look so powerless before. It was a new look for Stan, one that Kyle did not want to last or ever see again.

"Kyle," Stan gulped, still catching his breath, "do you believe in soulmates?" Kyle's heart stopped, a ringing in his ears piercing through his soul as he tried to think of what to say. Did Stan believe in soulmates? Would he ridicule him if he said he did?

"Yes," Kyle answered with a facade of confidence, "I do." Stan looked up at Kyle before dejectedly chuckling, shaking his head. Had Kyle answered incorrectly?

"I guess I should have known," Stan murmured. "Do you know who yours is?" Kyle swallowed the bitter pill of his incapability; it ached; it hurt.

"No," Kyle lied, "not yet." A relieved sigh escaping Stan as he threw himself back into the bed. 

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," Stan exhaled dramatically. "Are you ever curious about who it is?"

"No," he stated, face colder than those of the guards. "I prefer it that way."

"Why?" Stan asked, probably trying to gather insight before telling Kyle what his mother had spoken to him about.

"That way I can stay dedicated to my service." Technically, that was not a lie; but if withholding information was being untruthful, he was lying.

"That's such a you thing to say," Stan huffed. "My mother... she's really desperate for me to find my soulmate. She invited all of these people, and I have to basically speed date all of them to make sure if they're mine or not."

"That is what has you so upset?" Kyle nearly choked. The throbbing of chest nauseated him; he was close to gagging on his own guilt, but he felt like he had no other choice.

"It's just that... I'm so happy right now with the way things are. I've never been happier," Stan paused, thinking about how to word what he was feeling. "I needed someone like you to come to the castle." The only reason Kyle hadn't thrown up was that he had absolutely nothing in his stomach. He was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss he dug for himself; he was sure he was going to die there, for there would be no way for him this trap he'd set for himself.

"Like me?"

"Yea, like you! You're open, and you're loyal. You're easy to talk to, and you're good at everything that you do," Stan rambled. "You've made my life like a walk in the gardens; I needed a friend like you."

"Me too" were the words that fell from Kyle's mouth like a hammer onto the nails of a coffin. 

Kyle had no idea what his facial expression was or if he even had one. He could not remember whether the conversation continued where it left off, when it ended, or where the time had gone. The next thing he knew, it was one in the morning; and he was staring at his reflection in the mirror as he grazed the skin of the base of his neck, trailing his fingers over the blistering flesh that bore the magnificence of the Marsh crest. 

"How am I not surprised?" A voice startled Kyle back into reality as he rushed to cover his neck, jumping onto his bed and covering his face, dreading to see who had opened the door. He peeked through the spaces of his fingers, scanning over a familiar pair of tattered pants.

"Kyle," Kenny whispered, carefully stepping his way over to Kyle's bed. Kenny yanked the cover off of him, not batting an eye when Kyle yelped in surprise. "Show me your neck," Kenny prompted, not daring to speak above the sound of the crickets outside. Kyle shook his head vigorously, fighting the urge to run out of the room and into Stan's chamber. 

"Kyle, you know you can trust me. Remember?" Kenny sat beside Kyle on the bed, wrapping his arms around Kyle's shoulder and pressing his face on his chest. There wasn't anything that Kenny didn't already know; this was just the ribbon to tie everything together. There was nothing else in Kenny's mind that could justify Kyle's deep appreciation for Stan; it made sense; Stan was his mate. Kyle realized there was no use in hiding anything from Kenny—not anymore.

"He's going to find someone for him. Someone of nobility," Kyle croaked, pulling away from Kenny and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow, or today, he's taking them to the gardens to find the one for him. What if he finds them?" Kyle shook his head, laughing bitterly at how hopeless he felt.

"Like that could ever happen, Kyle," Kenny chuckled. "I don't know what it is about love that makes people so dense and stupid." 

"Why would you say that?" Kyle sputtered. Kenny, as always, rolled his eyes. He faced Kyle and deadpanned.

"Stan is so fucking into you that you could ask him to lick your ass and he'd do it," Kenny scoffed and laid down on Kyle's bed. 

"You're lying."

"Do you not notice how comfortable he is with you, dude? I've been here since I was a child; I used to play hide and seek with him, but Stanley still calls me 'Kenneth.' He doesn't call anyone here by a nickname except you. Not to mention that he hates it when I call him anything but 'Stanley.'"

"I'm his aide," Kyle pointed out.

"That's never made him do that before," Kenny continued. "I've known him for much longer than you have. He's never treated anyone the way he treats you. Remember the day you cut your finger on a chipped teacup and Stanley was flipping his shit?"

"...yes...," Kyle had no idea what he was getting at.

"Would anyone overreact like that for just an aide, Kyle?" Kyle paused, he'd never thought of that before. "And you know that elaborate and extremely over the top lace turtleneck bullshit Stan wears every day?"

"He sleeps with it. It's part of his undergarments," Kyle responded flatly.

"Oh really now? Because Stan never wore that during the day until you got here; trust me, I would fucking know. Now tell me, have you ever seen him with it off?" Kenny coaxed. Kyle shook his head. Why hadn't he noticed these things? If Kenny was on the right track, the answer was simple; he couldn't have—not if this started the day after he was installed. 

"Why would you hide your mark anyway?" Kenny questioned, narrowing his eyes, inching closer to Kyle's face like there was something hidden in his green eyes.

"I didn't," Kyle mumbled. "He saw it the day that I got here. He took off my collar and my chains, but he didn't say anything. I just assumed he would say something later; he never did."

"Did you ever say anything about it?" Kenny probed. 

"Of course not!" Kyle whined. "It's not my place."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not in your place to tell your SOULMATE that you bear his seal! Give me a fucking break."

Never had Kyle truly analyzed what he had done; and now that Kenny put the root of the problem into words, it dawned on him that there were many leaps in logic he had committed as a result of his emotional weakness. However, there would no longer be an easy way to break the news to Stan.

"But...what can I do now? What if he finds someone, Kenny?" Kyle was anxious. He couldn't help but catastrophize things.

"He literally can't, Kyle," Kenny groaned "the two of you are soulmates for a reason. Stan bears your crest. That's why this whole situation with the speed dating is totally fucking stupid. All he has to do is ask for their fucking initials, say 'next,' and move on."

Kyle put his head back in his hands. He was supposedly the smartest member of the staff in this castle, yet he could not think as critically as Kenny did. It hurt his ego a little, but he was grateful.

"As for telling Stan..." Kenny smirked mischievously, "I have an idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave me your feedback; I'd love to hear it! Hope today's a killer for ya!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself, so I decided to upload the last chapter of this story today. It is a much shorter fic than what I'm used to writing, and I'm sure that I used a fair share of deus ex machina (or in this case Wendy ex machina), but it is what it is. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Stan was in the worst of moods; he was going to take the visitors to the gardens, and he was going to act like he actually wanted to be there. In all honesty, he would much rather stay in and analyze documents with Kyle all afternoon. 

In the midst of his thoughts, he remembered the conversation he had with Kyle and the disappointment that came from hearing him say that he felt better not knowing his other half. It was a conflicting and confusing emotion, for he knew that Kyle was willing to do anything to remain loyal to him, but there was something about hearing him say 'no' that disillusioned him.

The rumble of his stomach took him from his reverie as he glanced impatiently at the clock on his wall. It was a quarter after seven and Kyle still hadn't come through the door with his food. It was concerning to Stan; even when Kyle was ill he would show up in time—after taking the necessary precautions, of course. Kyle would much rather die than run behind on an errand. 

A knock on the door startled Stan to his feet, and he paced around his bed as he yelled for Kyle to come in. The door opened and the cart was wheeled in and set beside his desk as it always was.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle. What took you so long-" Stan stopped in his tracks. The person in his room was not Kyle. Instead, there stood a familiar face from his childhood; but not one he had expected to see at this very moment.

"Leopold?" Stan questioned, more taken aback than before. What was going on? Everything was out of place; it was throwing Stan through a loop, and he wasn't sure that he could handle it.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, My Prince; but Kyle was busy getting things together for your event this afternoon, so he asked me to bring you your breakfast and help you out in the meantime," Butters stood firm, his training obviously changing many of his old mannerisms like his slouch. 

"I see," Stan muttered. "What are you doing around these parts, Sir?" 

"Paladin," Butters corrected. "I was just paying a visit, Prince Stanley. I hope it did not bother you."

"Of course not, Leopold. It is always nice to see an old friend," Stan smiled. Butters was not deserving of any hostility; he was the most kindhearted person he had ever known despite his vocation. 

"Who did you come to visit? Last I heard, the Stotch family moved to the rural area to the east," Stan spoke as he took a seat to have his breakfast. He figured that he ought to strike a conversation at least to attempt to ease the brewing nerves within him. 

"I came to see my mate, Prince," Butter's smiled, attempting to hide his reddening cheeks as he stared at the floor. It was almost like a punch in the gut for Stan. The sweet and blissfully ignorant Butters had found his soulmate, yet he was not even sure if he wanted to know who his mate was. 

"What was it like," Stan blurted, "finding your soulmate?" 

"It is the best thing that has ever happened to me," Butters giggled, "I remember that I saw my seal on his skin, and I thought 'if that's not the most beautiful thing that I'd ever seen, let lightning strike me down.' Just like that, my life was nothing without him."

"Him?" Stan raised his eyebrow. "Who is he? I just might have to meet him." 

Butters laughed lightheartedly, "But you already do, Prince Stanley."

"I do?!" 

Butters unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve to show Stan the seal that was printed on his forearm; parts of it were slightly lighter than the rest from the scars he had received in battle. 

"McCormick? I can't be! Your soulmate is Kenneth?!" Stan gasped in disbelief as he read the name that was written in a banner.

"The one and only," Butters boasted as he adjusted his sleeve to its original position. "Have you not seen your mark, My Lord?"

"I...have," Stan hesitated, his heart thrashing in his throat—it was nauseating. 

"Then why this meeting with the nobles?"

"The mark is in too tricky a spot for me to read the letters," Stan murmured. 

"I can read it for you, Prince. Only if you allow me, of course," Butters offered. 

Stan had no idea why he was trusting Butters with this information, considering they had only just seen each other after years of distance. However, he did not think twice before untying the lace that fit snug against his neck. Butters could see it clearly; the seal was on the base of Stan's neck, almost completely passed his shoulder. It was no wonder he couldn't read the name. 

"On with it, whose name do I have?" Stan huffed, bouncing his leg and pinching the palm of his hand.

"I need a second to read it, Prince Stanley," Butters countered, furrowing his brow. "I do not recognize it."

"That was not my question, Leopold. What does it say?!" Stan spoke between his teeth. His world was spinning; his ears were throbbing in anticipation and so was his heart.

"Broflovski," Butters stated, stepping away from the prince and retaking his previous stance.

Stan sat perplexed. Broflovski? He knew no such name. The name was so distinct that he couldn't possibly forget it.

"My Lord," a guard called as he burst through the door, "all of the preparations are set. The queen demands the event to take place as soon as you finish your meal." With that, he shut the door and left without uttering another word. 

"Where is Kyle? I would like him to accompany me," Stan asked Butters as he dressed in the clothes that Kyle had chosen for him the day before. 

"I'm afraid that he cannot, My Prince," Butters sighed, "The queen has stacked many chores onto him."

"I will be of as much service as I can, so please do not be troubled," Butters assured as he patted Stan's back. Stan rolled his eyes in frustration. He felt utterly abandoned.

Stan nodded as he made his way to the door and gestured for Butters to follow. They walked in silence all the way to the gardens, the name that was stamped on his skin repeating itself over and over until he felt like it was going to consume him. A sea of unfamiliar faces and somewhat familiar ones flooded the perimeter of the gardens; they were all in single file like they were in line to meet an idol, which he may be to some of the people of lesser developed nations. 

However, even among this vast number of people, Stan was still looking for Kyle. With Stan's presence being known, the meetings had to begin with or without him. It was like his eighteenth birthday all over again except he didn't want to be here and the handshakes lead to a prolonged agony for Stan. He didn't know how many times he could hear the same mindless compliments before going mad; he would rather sit through one of Kyle's lectures than listen to someone else tell him how beautiful the castle was.

The line advanced, each person taking a piece of his patience with them. At one point, Stan just started asking people for their family name and sending them off if it didn't match the one that was engraved in him. He didn't care if his mother about his mother's disappointment; after all, these meetings were pointless since he was aware he had a soulmate. This rose the question: why didn't he just tell his mother that he had a mark but didn't know to which family the name belonged to? But that didn't matter now that he couldn't change anything; all that was left to do was get this over with.

An eternity seemed to have passed before the last person entered the garden and sat next to him as the other had. Stan was close to just waving them away when they spoke.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Prince Stanley," the girl spoke in a familiar, soothing tone.

"I never thought I'd see you here again of all places, Princess Wendy," Stan shook his head. Wendy Testaburger was a childhood friend, along with Leopold and Kenneth. 

"If I am to be sincere," Wendy paused, "I always hoped we would." Wendy gave Stan a bashful smile.

"So you have not found your one," Stan decided to genuinely speak to her since she was the last one and he knew that she was not of the Broflovski family. After all, the Testaburgers were well known around this part of the kingdom, and they were valuable allies.

"I take it you have not either if this elaborate plan was arranged," Wendy countered, confident in her words, as always. 

"The queen was never the kind to beat around bushes. She has no sense of discretion," Stan sighed.

"I would know," Wendy laughed, "Do you remember when we were children and your mother was prancing around the kingdom announcing how your sister had bled for the first time?"

"How could I forget?" Stan rolled his eyes. "It was embarrassing, even for a person who was not being called to attention." 

"But we always hid these gardens whenever something like that happened," Wendy muttered. "We were so happy back then, blissfully unaware of the number of obligations we had—filial and otherwise." A moment of silence befell them as Wendy reminisced and Stan counted the minutes to go to bed.

"I always hoped that I could see you again. I miss our past," Wendy glanced at Stan, hoping to find the same yearning in his eyes as he did when they were children.

"It is the past for a reason." Silence suddenly formed an ice cap between the two, as Wendy came to the harsh reality that there was no hope for her to have Stan as she did in those days; but she could not say she was surprised.

"I always imagined that my other half would be this person with an infinitely big heart," Wendy broke the silence, staring at a rose whose petals steadily fell, like the ticking of a clock, as the breeze stroked it. "I hope he has colored eyes and dark hair; but then again, I cannot control that sort of thing. What about you? How do you envision your soulmate?" Stan was uncertain on whether or not to play along with Wendy, but he figured it wouldn't hurt him.

"I hope they are noble and dedicated," Stan paused, "I imagine my soulmate to be kind and compassionate, stapled to my side like an extension of myself—more loyal than a knight to his king."

"If I heard this out of context, I would have thought you were listing the requirements needed to be your slave" Wendy chuckled. 

A slave? Stan bit the inside of his lip, pondering to himself. What was wrong with wanting a mate to be someone he could trust whole-heartedly? Perhaps the description could apply to a slave too, but Stan saw no fault in that. Anyone would love a soulmate like Kyle. Kyle.

Like a jolt of lightning from the heavens, the truth revealed itself to him. Stan's thoughts began to race as every neuron in his brain connected the dots, forming the contours of Kyle's soft cheeks and round eyes. His legs nearly trembled as he stood, and every ounce of his strength was put into keeping his hands from shaking.

"Stanley, are you okay?"

"It has truly been a pleasure to see you again," Stan nervously laughed, "but I believe it is time to call this a day, don't you agree?"

"As you wish," Wendy awkwardly obliged as she scurried away.

"Thank you," Stan blurted after her, not giving Wendy too much thought. His veins throbbed in longing; he needed to find Kyle. Ready to bolt, he thought of the fastest route toward the kitchen; surely, Kyle would be there. He almost set forth through the west entrance before noticing the shadow of a person where the line once stood. Had he forgotten someone? Stan was about to go mad before zeroed in on the pair of green that gave his life meaning.

"Has it been a long day, My Lord?" Kyle stepped closer, and Stan wasted no time. He couldn't possibly wait any longer—not now—not when his entire being had been deprived of him for tortuous hours—not when the flesh of his neck burned as Kyle's name branded his very essence. He'd have time to explain later; or at least, he hoped he would.

Stan lurched forward, cupping Kyle's face in his hands as he planted a needy kiss on Kyle's lips. Kyle immediately surrendered himself to him, acting on emotion and instinct alone as he returned Stan's affections and clutched fabric of his coat; this was definitely not part of Kenny's plan, but Kyle was far from dissatisfied with the change of course. Stan allowed his fingers to comb through Kyle's thick locks, relishing in the way the digits slightly tangled as if begging him to keep them there; and Kyle never wanted it to end.

"Kyle," Stan breathed as he parted, leaning his forehead against Kyle's in a desperate need to remain close to him. "Kyle Broflovski."

"Stanley," Kyle parroted, exhaling a giggle as he lightly brushes the skin of Stan's neck. "Stanley Marsh."

They stood in silence, simply staring into each other's eyes and gently caressing each other, not caring to notice how time danced around them or how the castle halls seemed to rumble with gossip. The thing that brought them back to Earth was a chorus of applause led by Kenny, Butters, and the queen. 

"As much as I liked the way things were," Kyle whispered, "I don't think I can love anything more than a future with you." 

Stan gave a wide grin, all anxiety and doubt being blown away by every breath Kyle took.

"I couldn't agree more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this fic! I hope you all had fun! I was considering expanding this fic or making a "sequel", but I can't put anything in stone just yet. Tell what you all think. Thanks, again, for reading; and I'll hopefully see you in another work!


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